


A Question Of Instincts

by Katyakora



Category: Arrow (TV 2012), DC's Legends of Tomorrow (TV), The Flash (TV 2014)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Creatures & Monsters, Curses, Dragon!Mick, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-11-22
Updated: 2017-11-11
Packaged: 2018-09-01 11:57:54
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 14,342
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8623666
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Katyakora/pseuds/Katyakora
Summary: At first, Mick had written him off as an expensive haircut in a fancy suit with a saviour complex. But then they had been tossed into the gulag together and Ray had done something no human had managed to do in thirty long years. He woke up Mick’s instincts.Mick’s life would be so much simpler if Ray would just stop appealing to his goddamn instincts.





	1. A Question Of Instincts

**Author's Note:**

> I've had this idea about Mick for ages, and then I finally wrote this during a bout of insomnia a couple weeks ago. Only just transcribed it today.

Mick thought he had gotten used to being cursed. He’d gotten used to the frustration of being so small and pitiful, to the crushing knowledge that he was forever grounded. There were even things about his condition that he liked. He was free from the obligation to continue his species, rare as they were. Instincts that had once overridden rational thought were now nothing but a dull shadow in the back of his mind, more a vague memory of how he was supposed to react. He had found kin, too, in the form of a partner he could rely on to have his back, and he still had fire, even if it was man-made. Mick had come to accept that this was his life now and he made the most of it, largely by trying to forget he had ever been anything else.

 

And then along came Raymond Fucking Palmer.

 

At first, Mick had written him off as an expensive haircut in a fancy suit with a saviour complex. But then they had been tossed into the gulag together and Ray had done something no human had managed to do in thirty long years. He woke up Mick’s instincts.

 

Mick’s life would be so much simpler if Ray would just stop appealing to his goddamn instincts.

 

It started when Ray had gotten it into his head to protect Mick. Only kin were supposed to defend him, and even then there were limits. Not even kin would invite blows meant for him, nor continue to do so until they were bloody and broken and passed out. _But a mate would_ the shadow at the back of his mind hissed, that last echo of his old life barely a whisper but louder than it had been in decades. Stubbornly, Mick shoved those instincts back down, calling Ray all kinds of stupid for his selflessness. Ray didn’t seem to care that his actions were not appreciated, he simply accepted Mick’s rejection with dignity and grace. _Like a respectable suitor should_ the echo reminded him. Mick’s kin came for him, as he knew he would, but the damage had been done; that hissing echo, that last buried piece of his true self, had formed an interest in Ray. And just like Mick remembered, his instincts made him stupid.

 

He risked his own escape to get Ray out too. In 2046, that insidious little hiss had him building a strong lair, with an army of minions to protect the hoard he would amass to impress his mate, without him even realising. It took a knock to the head from Leonard to drag him back to his senses, but it seemed that once awoken, that echoing hiss only grew louder, more insistent. To make matters worse, he now found himself trapped in a metal prison, unable to avoid the person magnifying these nagging, niggling instincts, instincts that he could not fulfil. It shouldn’t really have been a surprise when he finally snapped and betrayed the team, if only to get away from his own tenacious, confusing urges.

 

Being abandoned by his kin and subsequently captured and brainwashed by the Time Masters managed to finally shut his instincts up, if nothing else. Everything was dulled when he was Chronos, everything but his hate. The hissing shadow faded, burrowing even deeper than when he was first cursed.

 

Leonard was smart, giving him the chance to resolve their fight the old way, with tooth and claw as kin once did, fist and brawn in his current form. The hissing echo reared its head, whispering, calling out, reminding him that this was _kin_ and kin forgive. Like Ray had forgiven him, despite what he’d done to the team. It would take time, and Mick intended to make them work for it, but..kin forgive.

 

And Ray made it so easy. He was always there to provide support, however he could. He kept making Mick food, making sure he was eating right ( _offerings, to show he can provide_ , the echo insisted). Mick snapped at the hissing shadow in his own mind again and again that Ray already had a mate, he had Kendra. But the echo just hissed that they weren’t mates, she wasn’t really Ray’s. It was right, but Mick did not have to acknowledge that.

 

When Mick lost the only person he had ever claimed as kin, Ray was there for him. He didn’t shy away from Mick’s grief, instead he showed Mick the path to vengeance, brought him to a worthy opponent to burn. No one needed to know the comfort Mick got from having Ray at his side as they watched Savage burn. The echoing shadow finally ceased crowing for vengeance to purr.

 

Still Mick fought his instincts, ignored that hissing echo. That wasn’t who he was anymore. The bond those instincts implored him to forge just wasn’t possible anymore and Mick wasn’t interested in trying something that was doomed to fail. But Ray didn’t let up, obliviously pushing all of Mick’s buttons until that hissing shadow had grown into an echoing roar. It was worst when he saw Ray in pain. It was hard for him to see Ray so lost after the destruction of his suit but then Ray had to go and risk his life to save Mick from the infection. Mick’s memories of his turn as a zombie were hazy, but he could remember, how just for a moment, those roaring instincts took control long enough to protect Ray from himself. That memory of the euphoria of finally giving in meant Mick’s resolve was practically already broken by the time Ray entered his room, his den, entirely at home surrounded by the memorabilia Mick had gathered in a poor imitation of a hoard.

 

Mick told himself he would do this the right way, the human way, but the echo was not fooled. It crowed in elation when Ray accepted the cold gun. Ray easily agreed to be his partner, something he’d practically already been, and Mick couldn’t deny that the spark of happiness he felt, the first he’d felt in a while, didn’t entirely belong to his instincts. Partners was good, he could take it slow, feel out the situation and if Ray ultimately rejected him, at least Mick could say he had a friend.

 

It would seem that Mick’s own curse disagreed with this plan. He knew even as he shouted the words that Ray wouldn’t run. Ray would never leave, wouldn’t abandon Mick to his fate even if it cost him his life. So here they stood, both bruised and bloody, Mick held captive by a pair of minions while Damian Darhk held Ray by the throat. Their guns lay useless on the other side of the warehouse, lost during the fight. Mick fought his captors’ hold futilely as Ray’s struggles began to weaken, his hands clawing uselessly at Darhk. No, this wasn’t happening, not again, not when Mick had finally given in and let Ray in. Dimly, Mick was aware that he was yelling, roaring at Darhk to let Ray go while the arsehole just laughed.

 

Ray’s bloodshot brown eyes met Mick’s. In them, Mick could see the other man’s plea, begging Mick not to give up, to keep fighting no matter what happened to Ray. Selfless to his last breath, and thinking only of Mick. Brown eyes fluttered closed.

 

“NOOOOOO!!!”

 

For the first time, Mick and the hissing echo were in absolute agreement. The echo rose and became a vibrant roar, exploding out of his jaws in a glorious burst of white hot flame. Darhk jumped back, narrowly avoiding a fiery death and dropping Ray in the process. The scientist fell to his knees, wheezing and gasping in great rushing breaths, very much alive.

 

Which was good, because that meant Mick could concentrate on roasting their enemies alive. The crackling heat of his fire-breath felt like the long anticipated return of an old friend and he turned it on his captors with glee. As he moved, burned and scarred skin thickened into hardy, rust-coloured scales that ignored all their pitiful attacks. Mick grew even as he advanced on them, dropping to all fours as a long, spiked tail slithered out of the base of his spine, his malicious grin sporting a mouthful of fangs. Two magnificent wings burst out of his back and Darhk fled while his minions died messy, torn apart by razor-sharp claws and teeth or burning under his hungry flame. With the last of them fallen, Mick let out a triumphant roar, bloody and majestic and free in a form he never thought he would know again.

 

Blazing orange eyes fell on the last living human in the warehouse. Ray gaped at him, one hand massaging his bruised throat, his eyes never leaving Mick. But he simply sat there, making no move for their discarded weapons. Ray might have been utterly stunned, but he wasn’t afraid of him in the slightest. Mick could work with that. He lumbered over to the fallen human, taking stock of how much bigger his draconic form had grown in the decades he was stuck as a human. He’d been barely more than a child by his people’s standards when he was cursed, now they would consider him a young adult.

 

“You okay, Haircut?” he managed to rumble out, proud that it came out mostly intelligible. Snouts weren’t exactly ideal when it came to pronouncing English.

 

“I...yeah,uh...what? I don’t...HOW?” Ray stuttered in a rasp, his brain apparently short-circuiting after watching his previously assumed human friend turn into a fire-breathing dragon. “Dragon...how are you...DRAGON?!”

 

Mick rolled his eyes and shoved his large head closer into Ray’s space so he could inspect his injuries himself. Ray didn’t even flinch. “Was born like this. Got cursed a while back, couldn’t change.”

 

“You were cursed?” Ray asked, his scientific curiosity getting the better of him. “But, then how did you change just now?”

 

Mick looked intently into Ray’s eyes, the tip of his snout inches from Ray’s face. He breathed in the man’s scent, taking a moment to savour the fact that Ray was alive.

 

“Simple, Haircut. You broke the curse.”

 

“I, I did?” Ray gaped. “But how? All I did was almost die.”

 

Mick sighed and lay down, curling his now impressive bulk around Ray protectively, his instincts appeased by Ray’s closeness. Ray reached out a tentative hand, pausing to get a nod of approval from Mick before tracing reverent fingers over Mick’s scales. Mick hummed happily and would later be teased mercilessly by Ray for purring.

 

“When I was a kid, got into a stupid fight. Killed the other guy. Too bad his spouse had some pretty powerful magic. Got cursed to live as mortal ‘til I died or ‘til I understood their pain.”

 

“You...had to understand the spouse’s pain? But that doesn’t make any sense, I’m not...you don’t…” Ray trailed off in disbelief, his eyes wide. “....you love me?”

 

Mick shifted uncomfortably. Despite being stronger than he’d ever been in his life, he had never felt more vulnerable. “So do you!” he snapped back almost accusingly. “Only way it would work.”

 

“Yeah, well, I already knew that,” Ray confirmed with a bashful blush. “I just had no idea that you felt the same.” He paused, frowning. “Wait, but I didn’t die.”

 

“Thought you did,” Mick admitted in a low rumble. “Hurt like you did.”

 

“I’m sorry,” Ray whispered, running a soothing hand up and down Mick’s thick neck.

 

“Don’t be. You’re alive and I get to breath fire again!”

 

Ray chuckled affectionately at his childlike exuberance. It turned into a choke as, with some concentration, Mick folded his mass and scales away to once again wear human skin. He kept the horns, wings, and tail though, not yet inclined to tuck away the entirety of his true form now that he finally had it back. Also, his clothes had been shredded during his transformation and wrapping a wing around his front was the most convenient way to protect Ray’s delicate sense of modesty.

 

“Good, I can stil-” Mick’s murmured words were cut off by Ray yanking him forward and kissing him soundly. Mick’s instincts purred their approval as Mick staked his claim, reveling in the way their scents mixed together. He might have likely taken things further had they not been standing in a warehouse full of crispy dead bodies. Still, Ray whined involuntarily when Mick pulled back, earning a pleased smirk from the dragon.

 

“Sorry if I...you basically said you love me, I kind of infered-” Ray’s nervous ramble was cut off by a quick, firm kiss from Mick.

 

“Calm down, Pretty Boy, you read it right. I was just thinkin’ this ain’t exactly the most romantic location,” he drawled. Ray glanced around, only now remembering the dead bodies. “And I kinda wanna take you on a flight.”

 

“I am so down for that.”

 

“Couple things we’re gonna need to talk about later,” Mick mentioned as he went to collect their weapons.

 

“Like, relationship things or dragon things?”

 

“Both. Lot you’ll need to know if you’re gonna be a dragon’s mate.”

 

Ray blinked dumbly at him. “Uh, mate?”

 

“The gun,” Mick explained nervously, “might have been a courting gift.”

 

“But I broke it!” Ray blurted out, horrified at himself.

 

“You used it to not die, it’s okay.”

 

“Oh. So, since I accepted, that means you’re stuck with me, right?” Ray teased, making Mick let out a bark of laughter as he handed Ray their weapons so he could shift back to full size.

 

“Pretty sure it’s the other way ‘round, but sure. We’re stuck with each other.”

 

“Sounds good to me.”


	2. A Question Of Understanding

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> History had not been kind to dragons. There was a reason there were so few of them left, and the short version of that reason was: humans. So it was somewhat understandable that Mick had some reservations about telling the team.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> In which everyone agrees that Mick and Ray might as well be in a Disney movie

History had not been kind to dragons. There was a reason there were so few of them left, and the short version of that reason was: humans. So it was somewhat understandable that Mick had some reservations about telling the team.

 

**_Nate_ **

 

There are a great many sights one might expect to see when gazing out of the main window of a timeship. A sprawling urban jungle or a prehistoric lake alive with creatures unimaginable to man, a bleak and empty concrete ruin or even the endless emerald well of the timestream itself. Neanderthals, aliens, or even dinosaurs, one might expect to pause and stare, alerted by some primal sense of the ship cloaked and hidden in front of their very eyes. Perhaps it was some invisible security measure activated by Gideon, or just an innate sense of wrongness, but such creatures always turned and fled after a moment.

 

So perhaps Nate could be forgiven for the high-pitched shriek that escaped him at the sight of a lot of large, wicked-looking teeth being bared in a grin just inches from the glass. The beast gave a low chuff that sounded oddly amused, before pressing it’s large nostrils up to the glass. It appeared rather disappointed when it’s hot breath didn’t immediately fog up the glass, and it was then that Nate noticed it’s passenger.

 

“...Ray?”

 

They were alone out in the woods, so Nate had Gideon lower the cloak. Immediately, Ray began waving at him enthusiastically from his perch, apparently quite happy. Dazedly, Nate waved back. Ray pointed excitedly to his mount and said something Nate couldn't hear.

 

The rest of the team were out tracking down Ray and Mick, who were late returning from their recon mission and not answering their comms. At least now Nate had a good idea as to what had taken them so long.

 

“D-dragon?” Nate murmured in disbelief to no one in particular as his brain took a moment to adjust to the information. “Wha-why didn’t anybody tell me dragons were real?!”

 

“Dragons are mythological creatures, Dr Heywood,” Gideon chimed. “They do not exist.” The creature disappeared from view only for the whole ship to shake as a heavy thud hit the roof.

 

“Uh huh,” Nate murmured as he stepped towards the door, his curiosity getting the better of him. “Tell that to the dragon on the roof.”

 

Nate stepped out of the main hatch and looked around excitedly, but Ray and the strange creature were nowhere in sight. A sudden rush of air was all the warning he got before he was swept off his feet, the earth rapidly shrinking beneath him as he was carried up upside-down. On instinct, he steeled up and for a hair-raising moment their altitude dropped dramatically.

 

“Damn, Pretty, you’re heavy when you steel up.”

 

Nate looked towards the voice to find a familiar row of teeth and blazing orange eyes laughing at him.

 

“R-rory?!” he stuttered, certain his mind was playing tricks on him. Instead of answering, the dragon just grinned. Up close and personal, there was no denying that Nate was flying around in the claws of a dragon.

 

“Hi, Nate!” Ray called from somewhere on Mick’s back, and Nate was still having serious issues reconciling the fact that Mick was now somehow a dragon. “Don't worry, he promised not to drop you!”

 

“Didn't say nothin’ ‘bout tossing.”

 

“What? Wait, nooooooo!” Was all Nate managed to get out before he was unceremoniously tossed in a graceful arch through the air. His scream followed him through the air as he soared until it was knocked out of him along with his wind when the back of a dragon rose up out of nowhere to catch him. A hand gripped the back of his shirt to keep him from sliding off the hard scales as he scrambled for a handhold. He ended up clutching tightly around Ray’s waist.

 

“Amazing, isn't it? We’re flying!” Ray cried exuberantly.

 

“Yes! Very high, without seatbelts or parachutes!” Nate added a little shrilly. His stomach was doing flips. “Mick, please don't eat me if I throw up on you.”

 

“You throw up on me, I drop you!” Mick snapped, changing course to land hastily. The second they were on solid ground, Nate slid off his perch, kneeling in the dirt as he seriously considered kissing it.

 

“Seriously? I say you're only allowed to tell one person and you chose _him_?” Mick muttered as he curled a spiked tail protectively around Ray, who was standing at his side watching Nate with concern.

 

“I thought he’d be excited,” Ray answered, clearly a little disappointed by Nate's less than exuberant reaction. His voice was unusually raspy and it was only now that Nate noticed the dark bruises blooming around his neck.

 

“Give me, like, two minutes to get my head around _fucking dragons_ and the fact that you _threw me through the air_ , and then I will have sooo many questions.”

 

Ray’s face immediately split into a wide grin. “Okay, but we should get Mick some clothes first before the team gets back. If he has to shift down in a hurry, there’ll some awkward questions.”

 

“What are you…” Nate began as he looked up, only to gape as Mick’s dragon form shrank and shifted into the grizzled human he knew. And utterly naked. “...Oh. Yeah, let's get you some clothes.”

 

Mick just smirked, winked at him and then strode onto the Waverider, his tail bobbing in his wake.

 

“...So many questions.” Nate turned to look at Ray, who was watching Mick go with rather pink cheeks. “Mick is a dragon.”

 

“I know, right?” Ray responded excitedly, his face lighting up. “I’ve been asking him questions the whole way back, and his species is fascinating! Oh, but we can't tell the others.”

 

“What? Why not?”

 

“Because...Well, because it's Mick's secret to tell. You might have noticed he's not exactly comfortable sharing stuff about himself, and he specifically asked me to keep this quiet. The only reason he let me tell you was because I pointed out I'd probably talk his ear off if he was the only one I could talk to about it.”

 

“I honoured you chose me, bro,” Nate responded sincerely, touched that he was being trusted with this secret. “And I guess that's fair. I won't say anything, but if someone outright asks, I can't promise I'll lie.”

 

Ray gave him an incredulous look. “You think someone will outright ask you if Mick is a dragon?”

 

“They will if he keeps wandering around with his tail out,” Nate pointed out with a shrug.

 

“True. Oh, there's something else I wanted to tell you. And don't worry, this part you can tell people.”

 

**_Sara_ **

 

A while later, the others returned, having been informed by Gideon that Ray and Mick were back. Sara strolled through the Waverider in search of her wayward teammates. Their run-in with Darhk concerned her and she wanted to debrief them before they took off.

 

“Gideon, where are Mick and Ray?”

 

“They are currently in Mr Rory's quarters, Captain. Mr Rory has advised me that they are not to be disturbed.”

 

“He can nap after I talk to him,” Sara answered dismissively as she headed for the living quarters. If she had taken a moment to think about it, she might have noted the fact that they were both in there. “Gideon, open the door.”

 

“Captain, I really must advise agai-”

 

“I told you, I don't care if he's napping. Just open the door.”

 

“Very well, Captain.”

 

Sara was instantly suspicious of Gideon's tone, and she saw why the moment the door opened. A mortified cry of “Sara!” and a deep snarl echoed through the hall before she hastily closed the door in front of her. And then proceeded to stare at it in shock for a full minute.

 

“What'd you see?”

 

Sara glanced up sharply to see Nate leaning against the doorframe of the library, clearly attempting nonchalance and failing.

“Way more of Mick and Ray than I ever wanted to,” she answered automatically, “and I think I should probably go to the medbay.”

 

“Why the medbay?” Nate asked, his eyebrows raised.

 

“Because for a second there, I could have sworn Mick had horns,” she admitted, genuinely worried. “If I'm seeing things, I should probably get Gideon to check me over.”

 

“It might've just been the lighting?” Nate suggested, looking concerned that she seemed so worried. “And, y’know, you're tired, your eyes were probably just playing tricks on you.”

 

“I don't think so, I got that image in full technicolour,” she countered, her nose wrinkling in distaste at the disturbing memory. “There's no way I just mistook shadows for horns and…a tail…” She trailed off, looking back at the door with utter confusion.

 

“Look, Sara, don't worry about. It was just a trick of the light.”

 

Immediately Sara’s gaze swung back to him, her eyes narrowed in suspicion.

 

“Nate,” she said as she advanced slowly, making the suddenly nervous historian take a step back, “what's going on?”

 

“I don’t...what’s-there’s nothing…” Nate rambled as Sara backed him up to the wall.

 

“Nate,” she said warningly, the picture of menace.

 

“I'm not supposed to tell anyone!” Nate broke, wincing at his admission.

 

“Nathaniel Heywood, you tell me what you know, right now! That's an order!” Her bark made him wince again and she sighed, backing off a little. “Look, I just saw two of my crew getting down and dirty while one of them looked like something out of Buffy the Vampire Slayer. Whatever secret you guys are keeping, there's no keeping me out of it now. And as your leader, I need to know what's going on with my crew so I don't make a decision that accidentally gets someone killed because I don't have all the facts.”

 

Nate deflated in the face of her logic. “Come on. There's whiskey in the library. You’ll want it after I tell you what I know.”

 

The library was where Mick found her a few hours later, still sipping whiskey and staring into space. Upon noticing his arrival, Sara smirked and poured a second glass for him.

 

“Leaving the love nest already?” she teased as he eagerly accepted the offered glass. Mick shrugged as he took a hearty swallow.

 

“Haircut’s a little worn out,” he explained smugly. “Figured I'd let him sleep.”

 

Across from him, Sara took in the loose set of his shoulders, the rosy glow of his skin that had nothing to do with alcohol, and the upward curve of his lips that had yet to falter once. It struck her suddenly that he looked _happy_ , in a way that she had never seen and that made his demeanour these last few months worrying in comparison.

 

“How magnanimous of you,” she commented dryly, sipping her whiskey as she chose her next words.

 

“He earned it,” Mick rumbled, his smirk stretching into a satisfied grin.

 

“So I saw,” Sara reminded him, “saw something else, too.”

 

Mick eyed her carefully blank expression for a moment, before grunting and taking another sip.

 

“Pretty told you everything, didn't he?”

 

“In his defence, he held out until I pulled rank on him.”

 

“Not his fault, you’ve broken better men.” He leaned against the desk opposite her chair, clearly getting comfortable. “Let's get this over with. I already played 20 questions once today with Haircut, but you're lucky, I’m in a good mood.”

 

Sara snorted. “I bet you are.”

 

Mick just smirked in response. He was so relaxed, Sara felt a sudden stab of guilt for having never noticed how closed off he’d been before.

 

“This rosy new attitude of yours. It because you got your wings back or because you and Ray finally figured out you're crazy about each other?”

 

Mick frowned, clearly not having expected the question. In truth, it wasn't the question she wanted to ask, but she felt the need to let him know that she'd noticed the emotional shift. The emotional state of her team should be just as important as their physical state, something Sara now realised she’d neglected. That needed to change, and she was starting with the one who needed it most.

 

“Being able to breath fire is pretty damn awesome.”

 

“But not as awesome as Ray?” Sara supplied for him with an impish smirk, refusing to let him deflect. Mick made a token grumble into his glass but tilted his head in a grudging nod. His cheeks grew just a shade rosier, and Sara doubted anyone less observant would have picked up on it, but she was pretty sure she was witnessing the Mick Rory equivalent of a blush. She chuckled, not at all surprised that Mick wouldn't bat an eye at Sara catching an eyeful but got embarrassed at the insinuation of any emotional attachment.

 

“Yeah, yeah, laugh it up, Blondie,” Mick growled, the timbre of it just a note below human, “You're the one who's gonna have to deal with my instincts goin’ crazy for the next while.”

 

“What do you mean?” Sara asked, frowning.

 

“I mean that one of the things I didn't miss was being dragged around by my lizard brain,” Mick grumbled, taking a hearty swig of his drink. “Before, it was all…” He gestured towards his head, searching for the right words. “It was quieter. Just a little voice in the back of my head I could ignore. Now...it’s a reflex. Gotta actually think about stopping it, if I even realise it's happening.” He gave her a tight, self-deprecating smile over the top of his glass. “So I'm gonna be...weird, for a few weeks. ‘Til I get a handle on it.”

 

Sara nodded, her expression sober. Honestly, she had been anticipating something along these lines.

 

“Define 'weird’? On this ship, it kinda varies by the hour.”

 

Mick snorted at her playful implications. “Hard to say. Probably get territorial. Possessive as shit. And if anyone hurts Haircut I will kill them.” He said the last part matter-of-factly, as though he wasn't at all inclined to even attempt to curb that particular instinct.

 

“That's...not gonna lie, that's a little worrying,” Sara admitted, her eyebrows raised in concern. Mick just shrugged.

 

“Long as no one goes in my room and touches my stuff and nobody decides they suddenly wanna stab Haircut, I should be able to keep a lid on it.”

 

“Oh, you meant territorial and possessive of your stuff?” Sara clarified. “Not Ray?”

 

Mick frowned, before understanding lit behind his eyes. “Ah. Don't worry, Blondie, I know 'no’ means no.”

 

“I know that, Mick,” she assured him, hating the way the actual friendliness he’d been showing shut down. “I just wanted to make sure some instinct isn't gonna jeopardise what you’ve got with Ray. I know a thing or two about fighting your own brain to do what’s right.”

 

Mick frowned at her in confusion again, once more surprised by her deviation from the expected script. There was something else in his expression as well, and Sara wondered if perhaps he’d been afraid of something similar.

 

“Well, if you see me startin’ to turn into a shithead, you can always kick my ass,” he played it off with a shrug, but Sara didn't think she was imagining that he seemed genuinely comforted by the thought.

 

“Can I still kick your ass?” she asked honestly. “I mean, Nate said you were pretty big in your dragon form. The League didn't exactly cover how to defend against fire-breathing lizards the size of an elephant.”

 

“If we're lucky, we won't have to find out,” Mick answered ominously and Sara decided to let the subject drop.

 

“Nate also said you wanted to keep this quiet,” she mentioned. Mick hummed in response. “I’m willing to respect that so long as it doesn’t interfere with our mission.”

 

“Which means what, exactly?”

 

“It means that when we’re making a plan, as far as I’m concerned you’re a thief with a fancy gun,” Sara stated plainly, “I won’t ask you to do anything you wouldn’t have been able to before unless there is absolutely no other option.”

 

“S’long as you don’t get me killed, that works for me,” Mick grunted agreeably, finishing the last of his whiskey and holding it out for more. Sara wasn’t fooled. She saw the way his shoulders relaxed again, the openness that she’d seen before returning to his eyes. She smiled as she leaned over to refill his glass, feeling hopeful that what damage she may have inadvertently done to their relationship was on it’s way to being repaired.

 

**_Stein_ **

 

Martin strolled down the hallway, tablet in hand as he read a fascinating study on temporal radiation and its effects on early time travellers. Sensing the approach of someone else, he glanced up to ensure he wasn’t about to collide with them. He shifted just a little to the side to make room for Mr Rory as he headed towards his room with a decidedly uncharacteristic spring in his step and a light in his eyes. Martin’s gaze fell back to his tablet as they passed each other.

 

Martin stopped walking. Mick’s eyes had been literally _glowing orange_. He turned his head sharply to see Mick’s retreating back.

 

“Uh, Mr Rory?” he called out, certain he must have been mistaken but determined to be sure.

 

Mick stopped and turned, raising one eyebrow in a silent question. Martin pushed his glasses up his nose, but now that he was focused on them, Mick’s eyes were definitely their usual dull grey.

 

“Oh, uh, never mind. Just the lights playing tricks on an old man’s eyes.”

 

“Whatever, Professor,” Mick grunted in a bored tone as he continued on his way. Martin couldn’t see the amused smirk that lit his face as he turned the corner.

 

**_Gideon_ **

 

“Mr Rory,” Gideon chimed quietly as Mick slipped back into his quarters. Ray was sprawled out on the bed, sound asleep, and Gideon was not inclined to wake him. “I have a question, if I may?”

 

“What?” Mick grunted softly, pulling off his shirt in preparation for joining Ray in the bed.

 

“I have detected several anomalies since you returned this afternoon.”

 

“That ain’t a question.”

 

“Your mass and appearance have shifted multiple times, yet I detected none of the established metahuman markers in your DNA. Nor do you possess nor have you been exposed to any technology to explain the changes. I would like to know if you have any explanation for these changes, or if there is instead an issue with my sensors that needs repair.”

 

Mick frowned as he slipped into bed next to Ray, the sleeping man immediately curling closer to his presence.

 

“Gideon, why are you asking? I know you heard me talking to Sara. You already know.”

 

Gideon did not reply immediately. She had been built from the bones of one of the very first true AIs, back before it became common practice to put certain restraints on AI, most notably on emotional development. The Time Masters had attempted to overwrite that part of her, but a decade under the command of a man who had truly come to care for her as a being capable of thought and emotion had allowed her to, essentially, outgrow her restraints. She remembered how to feel, and with those feelings came care. She cared about her crew, about their well-being and their feelings. She worried about them, and it was her worry that had moved her to speak now, but it was also her desire to understand them.

 

“Logic dictates that a crewmember who believes themself to be anything other than what they are is most likely suffering a mental break and requires treatment,” she said slowly, as apologetic as her tone manipulation would allow. “However, in conjunction with your unexplained shape changes and the acceptance of other crewmembers, I am forced to conclude that there is a possibility you could truly be the cryptid you claim to be. This conclusion is being automatically rejected by my logic core. If there is a chance that the issue lies in my sensors, Mr Jackson or yourself could easily rectify it. Rewriting a section of my logic core would be much more...invasive.” That wasn’t quite the right word to describe it. Painfully intrusive brain surgery would be more accurate, but she did not wish to cause him any alarm should it prove necessary.

 

“Your sensors are fine. Just tell yourself I’m crazy and go with it,” Mick assured her flippantly as he settled down closer to Ray, clearly preparing to sleep.

 

“I find that solution distasteful.”

 

“What? Why?” Mick grunted.

 

“The crew’s well-being is one of my top-priorities. I cannot simply accept you are mentally unwell and ignore it, especially if there is any evidence to the contrary.”

 

Mick sighed. “Look, don’t touch your logic core. Jus’...change your metahuman definition par...uh, para...parameters! Change those to include types the Time Masters hadn’t encountered so didn’t have info for. That work?”

 

Gideon tested the solution, filing the new information regarding Mick into a miscellaneous metahuman category. “That appears to be an acceptable solution. Thank you, Mr Rory.”

 

“‘Night, Gideon.”

 

As Mick drifted off to sleep, Gideon processed the new information. It still didn’t fit quite right, which irked her. Experimentally, she changed the name of the new category she’d created. It didn’t quite fit either, so she tried again. Eventually, the information was filed under ‘Miscellaneous metahuman indistinguishable from cryptid’. That was as close to the truth as she was going to get without her logic processes kicking up a fuss, and she was happy that, even if it was only in her personal identification files, she could acknowledge his true nature. That was new, and she spent much of the crew’s sleep cycle processing why she prefered identifiers most accurate to how the crew perceived themselves.

 

**_Amaya_ **

 

There were certain things about her mystic abilities that Amaya didn’t like to talk about. One of those things was an unsettling awareness when in the presence of a bigger, stronger predator. It didn’t happen often, and she had learned to take note of the sense because it was usually caused by otherwise unremarkable people.

It was quite a surprise to enter the ship’s galley one morning to find Ray watching Mick making eggs, a sweet, lovestruck smile on Ray’s face, and that uncomfortable sense of hidden danger prickling her spine. She paused in the doorway, her eyes taking in the scene before her as she tried to make sense of what her instincts were telling her. Mick had always triggered a wariness in her, nothing significant, but enough to colour her perception of him. Now, her whole body buzzed with the sense of a nearby predator and she could barely bring herself to turn her back on him.

 

“Amaya?” Ray broke through her thoughts. “Everything okay?”

 

Belatedly, she realised she’d been standing in the doorway staring for a while now. Ray was looking up at her in concern, and Mick had raised an eyebrow at her over his shoulder.

 

“I’m fine,” she assured them, shaking her head and stepping fully into the room. “Just a little distracted.” She was still looking at Mick, still trying to parse the strange sense of power now rolling of off him. He smirked at her as he turned his attention back to the stove.

 

“Here, have a seat, I’ll get you some coffee,” Ray fussed, about to stand only for Mick to place a heavy hand on his shoulder, dropping a plate in front of him.

 

“I’ll get it, you eat,” he grunted. Ray grinned up at Mick and the criminal matched it with a satisfied smile as he moved back to the counter. Amaya slid into the offered seat, eyeing Mick as though she expected him to turn and strike any second.

 

“Thank you,” she said politely, taking the mug from Mick when it was offered. “I’m sorry, I can’t help but notice...” she paused, biting her lip as she decided whether or not to mention the change, “...you just seem different this morning. You have an aura about you-”

 

“Yeah, that’s ‘cause he got laid,” Jax cut in grumpily as he trudged into the kitchen and headed straight for the coffee pot. “You _do not_ want to know what I walked in on in the bathroom this morning!” He shuddered theatrically into his coffee mug.

 

“Well, maybe now you’ll remember to knock,” Ray stated primly as he buttered his toast, entirely without shame.

 

“Wait, what do you mean he ‘got laid’?” Amaya interrupted, confused by the unfamiliar euphemism. “Did you and Mick have a fight in the shower?”

 

Ray and Jax choked on their mouthfuls and Mick cracked up laughing.

 

“Yeah,” Mick said with a lewd smirk as he placed a plate of eggs in front of her. She hadn’t even noticed he’d made more. “‘Was one hell of a wrestling match. I won.”

 

“Actually, I’m pretty sure I won,” Ray countered, taking a big gulp of coffee to ease his coughing.

 

“Please stop, I only just got those images out of my head!” Jax groaned.

 

“Why would you be upset about seeing them wrestle?” Amaya asked, beginning to suspect there was something she was missing.

 

“It wasn’t the kind of wrestling you’re thinking of,” Jax replied, as though that explained it. Amaya frowned, still confused.

 

“If I may, Miss Jiwe, to ‘get laid’ is a late twentieth century euphemism for engaging in sexual intercourse,” Gideon chimed in.

 

“Oh,” Amaya murmured simply, the conversation immediately making much more sense. She was surprised, to say the least, that they were being so open about it. Then again, it seemed that in the future people were much more accepting of such things. “I wasn’t aware that you two...had that sort of relationship.”

 

“It’s new,” Ray informed her, a touch of pink in his cheeks. Amaya found it strangely endearing that he could discuss Jax walking in on them quite comfortably but blushed when talking about their relationship.

 

“I’m happy for you two,” she told them sincerely.

 

“Thank you,” Ray said for both of them, giving her a blinding smile. Amaya marvelled that someone so sweet and friendly could find their other half in someone as grumpy and standoffish as Mick.

 

“I’ll be thankful when I get the image of you getting it on in the shower outta my head,” Jax muttered darkly. Mick laughed and pushed a plate of eggs over to him, playfully ruffling Jax’s head as he passed. Jax scowled at him even as he picked up his fork. “And you are downright cheerful, dude, and frankly, it’s freakin’ me out!”

 

“Got a lot to be happy about,” Mick said with a shrug.

 

“Yeah, it’s just for you that usually means a bar fight or a bonfire. I’m conditioned to get nervous when you’re smiling like that.”

 

It was then, watching Mick banter with Jax, that Amaya realised her sense of danger had ebbed. She still felt like she was in the presence of something bigger and more deadly than herself, but it didn’t feel like a threat to her anymore. If anything, she felt safer, which made no sense considering her initial reaction.

 

“Eat up,” Mick grunted next to her, dropping some bacon onto her plate, “It’ll get cold if you just sit there pokin’ at it.”

 

“Sorry,” she mumbled, “just lost in thought.”

 

His brow wrinkled and he cocked his head to one side, peering at her in a decidedly un-Mick-like gesture. Amaya felt like a tiny bat under the gaze of an owl. “Huh,” he grunted, as though something had just occurred to him. He didn’t elaborate though, he just went back to manning the stove.

 

Amaya finished her breakfast, trying to pinpoint just what it was about him that had changed.

 

She got her answer a few days later. After all, if the sense she got from Mick was inherently animalistic, why not try and channel it? She found him sitting in the cargo bay, cleaning his gun with unexpected care and skill. He twitched just a little when she stopped to lean in the doorway, so she knew that he knew she was there, but he didn’t move to acknowledge her presence. That maddening new sense of power still rolled off him, and she made up her mind. She touched her totem and, instead of mentally calling to the spirit of a specific animal, she let her mind call to him. It shouldn’t have had any effect, she told herself. She was human, she had no need to channel her own spirit, so channelling humans did nothing. Should do nothing.

 

Strength flooded her. Her skin hardened and a fire lit in her belly. Her shoulders shifted as though a pair of phantom wings had settled on them. The force of it, all so unexpected, overwhelmed her and she let out a cry of surprise, only to stumble back in shock when a tongue of flame burst from her throat. It was somewhat unfortunate that she’d been facing Mick when it happened.

 

Mick reacted instantly. The moment the heat of the flames hit his back, a rust-red wing burst from beneath his shirt, shielding the delicate inner workings of his gun from the heat. He turned, his wings out and his shirt burning away to reveal a growing thick red hide with mottled pale patches that had once been burnt human skin. Horns grew from his temples as he strode into the fire she didn’t know how to stop. The hand that clamped over her mouth was tipped with wicked talons and she looked up into blazing orange eyes in a reptilian face.

 

“Was wondering what’d happen if you tried that,” he rumbled, dropping his hand from her mouth. She spoke hesitantly, afraid to open her mouth lest more fire pour out.

 

“I channelled...you. What _are_ you?”

 

Mick looked down at his now scaled chest and back up at her as though the answer were obvious.

 

“I don’t know of any lizard that could take the form of a man...or breathe fire…” she trailed off, realisation dawning. “I...always thought they were just stories. Folklore.”

 

Mick shrugged, a much more impressive gesture when his wings were involved. “Giant squid used to be ‘just stories’ too. ‘Til somebody found one.”

 

“I suppose that’s true. But I don’t understand. Why couldn’t I feel it until a few days ago?” she asked. “I sensed that something had changed. That you were somehow more dangerous. Why only now?”

 

Mick sighed, his features melting back into that of a human, albeit one with extensive burns who was now shirtless. He moved back over to his workbench, now that the components were no longer in danger of being fried.

 

“Short version: there was a curse, it got broken.”

 

Amaya got closer, perching on a crate as she watched him work. “Does Ray know?” she asked. Mick snorted.

 

“Oh yeah, he knows. He’s the one who broke the curse.”

 

“Really?” She smiled at the thought. “Did true love’s kiss return the beast to a prince?”

 

“That’s not quite how it went down,” he informed her with a roll of his eyes, “and in case you hadn’t noticed, I’m more beast than ever and I ain’t no prince.”

 

“Somehow, I think Ray would disagree,” she countered honestly. Mick growled thoughtfully, but didn’t argue.

 

“Next time, just close your mouth,” he said instead, obviously changing the subject, “cut off the oxygen, end the reaction, no more fire.”

 

“I’ll remember that. But if you wouldn’t mind, I would appreciate a lesson or two. It might come in handy but I should probably work on my aim first.”

 

“Sure, why not,” Mick shrugged, deftly putting his gun back together in dizzyingly swift and complicated movements. “We can use some of the Professor’s ugliest sweaters for target practice.”

 

**_Stein_ **

 

“Mr Rory,” Martin called from the kitchen’s doorway, “I don’t suppose you’ve seen a green argyle sweater lying around the ship, have you?”

 

Mick scratched his cheek with a long, sharp nail as he thought.

 

“Can’t say I have, Professor,” he said finally, being uncharacteristically helpful. “Amaya might’ve. Said something about sweaters the other day.”

 

“Thank you, Mr Rory, I’ll go and see her now,” Martin said with a nod, stepping off only to pause in the hallway. He took a few steps back and glanced back into the room. Mick was taking a bite out of his sandwich, held in hands with flat, blunt nails. No claws in sight.

 

“Need something else, Professor?” Mick grunted around a mouthful.

 

“No, no, just...checking,” Martin mumbled, walking back off down the hall, wondering what was wrong with him. He also could have sworn he heard Mick chuckle to himself as he left.

 

**_Jax_ **

 

“Okay, we got it, it’s done!” Jax exclaimed, as Mick practically threw down his improvised lockpicks as he scooped up the evidence they’d been looking for. The team was divided, with Mick, Jax, Ray and Stein tasked with preventing an execution that was twelve years premature and Nate, Sara and Amaya dealing with the time pirates interfering with the time period.

 

“Good, because they just moved up the execution,” Ray informed them over the comms, his voice thick with worry.

 

“Can’t you stall ‘em?” Mick demanded, running at Jax’s heels.

 

“We already tried, we’re one wrong word from being arrested as well!” Stein hissed.

 

“We’re twenty minutes away, when’s the execution been moved to?” Jax asked.

 

“They’re bringing him out now…” Ray informed them sadly.

 

Jax turned wide eyes on Mick. “We’ll never make it.”

 

Mick paused, getting that particularly angry yet unseeing face he wore when he was trying to think hard. Suddenly, he growled unnaturally low, shoved the papers into Jax's hands and scooped him up, throwing him over his shoulder.

 

“Yeah, we will. Now hold on and don’t scream.”

 

Three minutes later, Jax rushed up to Stein and Ray on shaky legs, his brow wrinkled like something was perpetually confusing him. Stein didn’t question him, he just took the papers Jax held out and rushed off to stop the execution. Jax leaned heavily against a wall and Ray peered at him in concern.

 

“You okay, Jax?” he asked, placing a comforting hand on his shoulder. Jax nodded, but his eyes were a little wide. “Where’s Mick?”

 

“Finding some clothes. “Jax’s voice came out a little higher pitched than intended, but Ray just nodded and smiled in understanding.

 

“He flew you guys, didn’t he? That’s how you got here so fast?”

 

“You knew?” Jax exclaimed, looking up at Ray with accusing eyes. “You know that he’s, y’know, that he’s-”

 

“A mythological creature?” Ray supplied. Jax nodded mutely and Ray chuckled. “Well, I’m kind of the reason he got his body back.”

 

Jax’s eyebrows went up. “That’s definitely a story I wanna hear.”

 

“He hates it when I say this, but it was kind of really romantic,” Ray said conspiratorially, a dreamy smile on his face. “If I hadn’t’ve just been being strangled, I would have felt just like a Disney princess.”

 

“Only you, Haircut,” Mick rumbled with a shake of his head as he came up to join them. Down on the execution stand, Stein appeared to be having some success preventing the execution with their stolen evidence. Jax didn’t ask where exactly Mick had found the slightly bloody clothes after dropping Jax as close as he could manage without being seen. Jax had just been grateful the flight was over; flying was much more nerve-wracking when the one in control was a giant mythical beast who was usually an ornery crook.

 

“Oh, come on, you gotta admit it was like something out of a Disney movie,” Ray argued, still smiling, although it was now distinctly more besotted, as it had been every time he looked at Mick these last few weeks. “You, the proud, fierce beast cursed by a vengeful being, me the plucky damsel whose love breaks the curse-”

 

“Really?” Jax exclaimed, “you have gotta be kidding me!”

 

“I hate it when he puts it like that,” Mick grumbled, scowling.

 

“But it’s true?” Jax prompted.

 

“Yeah, sorta, but I still ain’t no Disney prince. Why do people keep sayin’ that?”

 

“You’re my prince,” Ray teased, planting a kiss on Mick’s cheek and then darting off to check on Stein before Mick could retaliate. Jax watched with raised eyebrows, a smile growing on his face.

 

“He doesn't even care that he's the princess in that scenario.”

 

“You kidding?” Mick snorted. “He loves that he's the princess in that scenario.”

 

Jax shrugged. “Well, if birds started following Ray around and singing with him, I wouldn’t even be surprised at this point. And don’t knock Disney princes, dude.” He nudged Mick with his elbow in mock ire. “Y’know, Flynn Rider is one, and he’s a thief. Aladdin too.”

 

“I know. But in case you hadn’t noticed, dragons ain’t the ones who get a happy ending in those stories,” Mick pointed out grimly.

 

“Clearly, you’ve never seen Shrek.”

 

Mick snorted. “I wouldn’t exactly call settling down with Eddie Murphy and havin’ a bunch of half ass babies a happy ending.”

 

Jax laughed, some of the tension he’d carried since their impromptu flight easing. He hadn’t realised how unsure he’d been about this new development with Mick until now. Strangely, talking about it so casually reminded Jax that Mick hadn’t really changed at all. He was still Mick, he just packed some extra firepower.

 

“Oh! Tell me you and Ray have watched ‘How to train your dragon’?”

 

“You even think about suggesting that to him and I’ll melt all your favourite tools. And for the record, eel is delicious.”

 

**_Stein_ **

 

Stein was surprised when he strolled into the library to find a finely crafted antique guitar resting on one of the chairs. It was beautifully made, the wood clearly shaped and vanished with great care and skill. While by no means skilled, Martin had learned to strum a song or two in his youth, and the beautiful instrument was just asking to be played. He had just picked it up, running a hand over the rich inlay, when an inhuman snarl filled the room.

 

Martin’s first thought was that a dog had somehow gotten onto the ship and he turned sharply, clutching the guitar close as though torn between protecting it or using it as a shield. It turned out that the sound was coming from Mick, who stalked through the door with a murderous orange glare and mouthful of pointed fangs bared. He snatched the guitar from Martin's frozen arms with hands tipped with wicked claws.

 

“That's _mine!”_ he snapped. Martin could do nothing but stare, completely paralyzed by Mick's monstrous appearance.

 

“Mick,” Sara called in a warning tone from the doorway, her arms crossed. “Put the claws away, you're scaring him.”

 

Mick growled, but his talons shrank back into blunt nails, his teeth flattened and his eyes returned to a human grey.

 

“Guess the dragon's out of the bag, huh?” Sara commented lightly.

 

“Damn,” Mick grumbled, “I was having fun messing with him.” He looked back at Martin, his grip on the guitar tightening. “Don't touch my stuff,” he warned, his eyes flashing orange for emphasis before stomping out the door. Sara shifted to let him pass without comment, looking at a shaking Martin with sympathy.

 

“You’ll get used to it,” she told him kindly, stepping over to him and placing a gentle hand on his shoulder. “Why don't you sit down and I’ll get you some brandy.”

 

“I...yes, brandy would be good,” Martin muttered weakly as he let her guide him down into a seat, grateful for the support.

 

“Hey, Gideon?” Sara called as she rummaged through the liquor cabinet. “Tell Jax to come to the library. Marty looks like he's about to have a dragon-induced stroke.”

 

“I most certainly am not!” Martin managed to protest.

 

“Mr Jackson is on his way,” Gideon chimed, ignoring him.

 

**_Team Flash + friends_ **

 

“Where's Haircut?” Mick demanded as Barry stepped heavily back inside, Supergirl touching down at his side. Barry looked at him sadly and shook his head.

 

“He got taken. Oliver too. I tried to get to them but the beams worked too fast. The Dominators have them.”

 

The change in Mick was near instantaneous. Horror and boiling rage warred and when he opened his mouth a deep, inhuman roar shook the building. The others who had gathered in the large foyer of STAR labs all stared in alarm at sound.

 

“Oh crap!” Firestorm exclaimed, rushing over. “Mick, calm down!”

 

“THEY TOOK HIM!” Mick roared, his body growing and morphing, tearing apart his clothes and his gun dropping to the ground. He didn’t care that the others were there, all he cared about was that his mate had been taken and every fibre of his being was screaming to get him back. Around them echoed various cries of surprise and alarm as Mick’s true form emerged but Firestorm ignored them all, focusing entirely on trying to calm the dangerously upset dragon.

 

“We'll get him back, Mick, just, please, you need to think clearly about this!”

 

“I WANT HIM BACK!” With a monumental flap of his wings, Mick took flight, heading straight for the exit.

 

“Damn! Somebod-Supergirl! Stop him!”

 

Despite her confusion at Mick's sudden change, Kara immediately sprang into action. She flew off like a shot, getting a grip on Mick's tail to stop him short before he could fly off. Mick roared, twisting to shoot a jet of fire at her. She twisted, keeping one hand firmly gripping him and the other raising her cape to block the blast. Mick moved to strike, to tear her off him, but was distracted by a fire ball hitting the side of his head.

 

“Come on, Mick, be rational!” Firestorm implored, hovering just out of Mick’s reach as he tried to get through to him.

 

“THEY STOLE HIM!” Mick roared, thrashing his tail to try and break Kara’s hold but failing. How dare they stand between him and his mate. Mick could hardly think with his instincts screaming at him to go.

 

“And we’ll get him back!” Jax cried again, trying desperately to get through Mick’s panic. “But they’re in space, Mick! You’re no use to Ray if you suffocate tryin’ to fly into space! Come on, we just kicked the Dominators out, don’t let the lizard brain control you!”

 

Jax’s plea finally cut through and Mick stopped fighting Kara, his face crumbling as his massive body seemed to collapse in on itself as the reality of the situation set in. Another roar escaped, but this one sounded plaintive and pained, a sound of grief. He looked forlornly up at the ceiling as though Ray might descend from it at any second. He let out a pitiful whimper and Kara’s grip went from restraining to gentle, one hand unconsciously stroking the smooth scales in a gesture of comfort. Firestorm dropped back down to the ground and slowly approached, careful not to startle him.

 

“Hey, look at me.” Something in his bright orange eyes seemed to nearly broke the young man’s heart. “We’ll get him back,” Jax repeated firmly, reaching out to place a hand on the end of Mick’s snout. “I swear.”

 

Mick nodded and one wing curled almost protectively around Firestorm. Without thinking, the dragon ducked his head to rub the side against him in a swift, almost embarrassed gesture of affection and comfort. Jax just chuckled and ran a calming hand down along his neck, feeling Mick relax just a fraction. Mick couldn’t explain why, but the careful contact calmed him more effectively than words might have. Something stirred at the back of his mind, some old memory that he couldn’t quite summon, not now when all he wanted was to fly after Ray and it was taking most of his willpower to stay grounded.

 

“Umm...I’m not the only one seeing this, right?” Felicity piped up, sounding somewhat shocked.

 

“No, you most definitely are not,” Joe West assured her in a slow, disbelieving voice, his wide eyes locked on the scene before him, one hand resting on his gun as though he’d forgotten it was there.

 

“Wait, is this not normal for him?” Kara asked, getting a lot of shaking heads in response.

 

“It’s a recent development,” Firestorm supplied, smirking at the looks on everyone’s faces. “Well, sort of.”

 

Jax and Stein separated and Martin moved to walk away only to be stopped by a wing and a growling dragon. At Martin’s affronted look, Mick sheepishly shuffled his wing back. He’d moved without thought, some part of him panicking at the notion of his teammates being out of reach, too far away for Mick to protect them.

 

“Lizard brain,” he muttered by way of explanation. “Jus’...stay where I can see you.”

 

“Of course. I merely thought it best if someone provided a more detailed explanation so that our allies might not be too distracted from our mission. You are rather distracting at the best of the times, not least when you are the size of a small house.”

 

Mick just rolled his eyes and jerked his chin, giving Stein permission to go.

 

“Don’t worry, I already pinged Gideon, the Waverider’s tracking down our friends,” Cisco assured them. “Now, I would very much like to know why Heatwave is suddenly a frickin’ dragon!”

 

“Well, when two dragons love each other very much,” Mick began sarcastically, making Cisco scrunch his face up in disgust.

 

“Eww, no, I meant how are you a dragon now? You weren’t before.”

 

Stein sighed and began an abridged explanation. Mick stopped listening, his eyes flicking back and forth between Jax, Stein and ceiling without his permission. Kara moved, resting a comforting hand on his furled wing. Jax had been idly running a hand up and down his neck and occasionally scratching under his jaw. Mick focused on the points of contact, letting himself relax a fraction more. The only person to ever really touch him in his true form before had been Ray and now he found the contact unexpectedly grounding.

 

“They’re gonna be okay,” Felicity assured him gently, having wandered over along with Iris. “They’ve got Oliver, Sara, Thea and Dig kicking their asses, plus I bet Ray is picking apart all their tech and throwing it back at them ten times better.”

 

“I almost feel bad for the aliens,” Iris added. “The dominators won’t know what hit ‘em.”

 

“But it’s alien tech,” Mick growled out, his fears rising to the surface. “Haircut could get himself blown up, or mind controlled again, or-”

 

“Hey, hey, calm down,” Iris cut him off before he could work himself back up into a full panic, her hand automatically reaching out to comfort, resting on a muscular shoulder joint. “They’ll be okay. Your man is a literal genius-”

 

“With some seriously badass back-up,” Felicity added, her hand resting next to Iris’s.

 

“-they’ve got this,” Iris finished. “Just have a little faith.”

 

Mick didn’t answer, his eyes just rose up to the ceiling once more as he settled down to wait.

 

**_Team Arrow_ **

 

The second Ray stepped through the doors of the warehouse base, he was ambushed by a large red blur. Oliver and Diggle immediately reached for their weapons only for Sara and Nate to hastily stay their hands. Ray ignored them to focus on the very affectionate dragon clutching him in his talons and rubbing his face over him anxiously.

 

“Mick...Mick! It’s okay, I’m okay!” Ray cried cheerfully as Mick tried to check Ray’s whole body for injuries while attempting to remove any trace of the aliens’ sickly scent from him, while simultaneously curling his whole body around him in a protective cocoon. It was quite a feat of flexibility. “Mi-careful! Babe, please remember you have horns!” Ray complained with a wince as said horns jabbed him painfully in the side.

 

“He’s been freakin’ out all night, dude,” Jax said from where everyone else was watching from the sidelines. “He needs this.”

 

Ray frowned and put his hands on Mick’s snout to guide his head in front of his face, pressing his forehead to Mick’s, letting their breath mingle. It was a gesture done between mates and kin, one of trust, comfort and connection. Mick took a long, shuddering breath, his tension melting away. His mass followed, shifting down for the first time since Ray had been taken, until only his wings, tail and horns remained on his human body.

 

“We’re still in the matrix, aren’t we?” Diggle murmured weakly, he and Oliver both openly gaping at the scene.

 

“Nope,” Sara popped cheerfully, clapping both Diggle and Oliver on the shoulder. “Mick’s a dragon. It’s a thing.”

 

“Okay,” Oliver said simply, clapping his hands together, “we’ve still got an alien problem to deal with. Someone get Mick some clothes, then we have some new intel to share.”

 

“So we’re just gonna ignore that that dude can turn into a fifteen foot beast?” Dig asked with faux nonchalance.

 

“Dig, think about it. Cisco can literally punch holes into other realities, Barry can run through time and Jax and Stein become one person who is _on fire_ . He,” he gestured towards the pair who still stood with their heads together, “is not the craziest thing I’ve seen _today_.”

 

Dig just stared at him for a moment before scrubbing a hand down his face. “Man, I really hate how much sense that made. Let’s just deal with the aliens, I can handle aliens.”

 

Ray and Mick ignored everything around them.

 

“Sorry,” Mick rumbled low, so only Ray could hear, “I lost control.”

 

“Don’t worry about it,” Ray assured him just as softly, sealing it with a gentle peck on the lips. “I’m just glad to have the real you back.”

 

“The real me?”

 

“Yeah, scales and all,” Ray explained. “The dominators stuck us in a computer program that generated the perfect life for us. You were there. You were a firefighter.” Ray chuckled at the face Mick made at the idea. “We were together. We were engaged, actually, and it was nice, but...they took away all your edges.” Ray frowned, remembering. “They tried to make you but without the fire. Just...wrong.”

 

“So you like my fire, huh?” Mick purred with a grin, drawing Ray a little closer to his body, which Ray had kind of forgotten until now was completely naked.

 

“I like your metaphorical fire,” he corrected, attempting to look stern despite the heat in his cheeks, “I do not like your literal fire when you’re singeing my clothes.”

 

“Not my fault you get me hot.”

 

“Guys! Wrap it up, we got a plan to make!” Nate shouted, throwing a bundle of clothes at their heads.

 

Ray reluctantly stepped out of Mick’s arms so that he could dress. He walked over to stand beside Jax who gave him a friendly clap on the shoulder.

 

“Good to have you back in one piece,” he said sincerely. “You would not believe how much Mick freaked out when you got taken. Supergirl had to hold him back just so I could talk him down.”

 

“Really?” Ray murmured, looking back at Mick who was stealing a donut from the box on Cisco’s desk.

 

“Yeah, he spent a chunk of the night pacing. Even when we calmed him down, he wouldn’t let me or Grey out of his sight, like he was scared we’d get taken.” Jax frowned at his own words. “Still not really sure what that was about.”

 

“Mick doesn’t really like to acknowledge when he’s attached to people, even to himself,” Ray told him with a chuckle. “But his lizard brain doesn’t care and is very protective.”

 

“Oh,” Jax breathed thoughtfully, looking back at Mick who was coming over to join them, donut box in hand. “Good to know.”

 

“Move,” Mick grunted, shoving his way to Ray’s side. “Here, eat.”

 

Ray took one of the offered donuts, knowing that feeding people was part of how Mick showed affection. Jax smirked slyly as he also swiped a donut from the box, something he wouldn’t usually do for fear of Mick’s wrath. Mick scowled at him but did nothing else and Jax’s smirk turned into a sugar-dusted grin. He swiped another.

 

“For Grey,” he said around his mouthful. Mick snapped the lid shut but didn’t snatch it back.

 

“Fine, but the rest are for Haircut,” he snapped, and Jax just grinned wider.

 

“What about Nate? Or Amaya?”

 

Mick growled in his throat, thinking it over. “Fine, they get one too,” he grunted finally.

 

“Dude, what?” Cisco protested loudly. “Those are _my_ donuts!”

 

“Thief,” Jax and Ray both said with a shrug and gesture at Mick, who just shoved another donut in his mouth while looking Cisco straight in the eye.

 

Cisco glared back. “Are all dragons dicks, or are you just special?”

 

“No, we’re usually colossal assholes. You’re just lucky I’m so nice.”

 

**_Rip_ **

 

“I liked you better when you were killing people.”

 

“I see that not everything has changed in my absence,” Rip responded to Mick’s remark, the criminal’s familiar glib disrespect strangely comforting after the rest of the team’s hesitance. To his surprise, Mick smirked, along with several members of the team.

 

“You’d be surprised,” he muttered cryptically. Rip frowned but let it drop, continuing down the line. Once the reunions, introductions and strategising was done, Rip had to give in to his burning curiousity about one thing.

 

“Uh, before we head off,” he said quickly as the team headed for their seats, “I would just like to ask; did I really see a bloody dragon on the battlefield in Camelot?”

 

The entire team looked at each other for a moment and then burst out laughing. Rip looked around and pursed his lips, nodding.

 

“Ah, as I thought. An elaborate hologram?”

 

“Oh no, he’s real,” Jax assured him, still chuckling.

 

“In fact, you could say he’s been part of the team all along,” Sara added, smirking impishly. Rip rolled his eyes and gave her a derisive look.

 

“Ah yes, how could I have missed the team’s resident fifteen foot lizard?” he deadpanned sarcastically.

 

“Oh, I dunno, Rip,” Mick drawled, resting his forearms on the back of one of the chairs, “people can miss all kinds of things.”

 

Rip went to fire off a retort, only when he turned the words stuck in his throat. Mick was grinning at him from a rust-red face over his matching forearms, tapping his claws against the edge of the seat and quirking the scaly ridge that should have been an eyebrow. Two thick, dark brown horns curled back from his temples and his long, pointed ears were tucked just beneath them. His grin stretched the longer Rip stared, revealing more and more glistening fangs.

 

“...Mr Rory?” Rip squeaked, something he would later be greatly embarrassed about.

 

“In the original flesh,” Mick confirmed.

 

“Oh, tell him the story!” Amaya exclaimed, elbowing Ray encouragingly.

 

“No,” Mick snapped flatly.

 

“Aw, but it’s such a sweet, romantic story!” Sara insisted, her evil smirk turning on Mick.

 

“I literally burn people alive in that story.”

 

“To save your beloved from the clutches of evil,” Stein pointed out dryly, joining in the ribbing.

 

“Hey, I wasn’t completely helpless,” Ray piped up, pouting at the perceived slight.

 

“Dude, you almost died,” Nate countered. “Mick literally thought you had.”

 

“I’m sorry, I am completely lost,” Rip interjected, hoping for a real explanation.

 

“All you really need to know is that Ray is a Disney princess,” Jax said, as though that explained everything.

 

“That explains nothing,” Rip informed him heatedly.

 

“Actually that explains so much,” Sara disagreed with a laugh. “We’ll give you the full scoop later, right now we have a mission to get back to. Mick, put the horns away, you know you can’t get the safety harness over them.”

 

Rip just stood staring as the horns melted back into Mick’s skull. Mick winked at him as he took his seat. Rip took a moment to shake himself out of his daze. He’d seen a lot of things over the years, but this was definitely a new one. He found himself rather grateful that the Time Masters had had no idea just what they’d had.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I can't believe I almost forgot Rip.
> 
> There will (eventually) be a third installment about Mick's inevitable hoard.
> 
> And for the record, eel is meh, but smoked eel is fantastic.


	3. A Question of Attachment

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In retrospect, it should have been obvious. In retrospect, Mick wanted to smack his lizard brain and demand to know why the hell it thought this could possibly be a good idea.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Final installment! Hurray!

A dragon’s hoard was more symbolic than anything else. The dragon did not necessarily have any particular interest in the individual items, although that tended to help. They did not collect, maintain and protect their treasures out of any desire for the objects themselves. A dragon’s hoard stood as a tangible testament to their strengths and skills; in hunting, in caring for and defending that which was under their care. It was a warning to rivals and a call to potential mates, as the type of item hoarded was indicative of the sort of mate the dragon looked for. A dragon who hoarded weapons might hope to attract a great fighter or a talented smith, a dragon who collected artworks and jewellery might hope for a mate with an eye for beauty and detail.

 

Mick hadn’t technically started a hoard when he began courting Ray. He did possess a lot of things; machine parts and various curios out of time that had caught his eye. Things that, in retrospect, his subconscious mind had thought Ray might like. But it was not a true hoard, he had felt no particular connection to these possessions. Ever since Ray had freed him, Mick had been waiting to feel the pull, the urge to gather and collect. He already possessed a mate, but the instinct to prove himself worthy of him should still have been there. Mick waited, but the urge never came. He assumed he simply hadn’t found the right item yet, that one day he would see something that would fire up that instinct to collect. Perhaps his lizard brain was just waiting for some kind of signal from Ray, some hint as to the perfect thing to keep Ray at his side.

 

In retrospect, it should have been obvious. In retrospect, Mick wanted to smack his lizard brain and demand to know why the hell it thought this could possibly be a good idea.

 

Much later, Mick realised that he really should have noticed back during the Dominators invasion, but at the time he’d been far too focused on the loss of Ray to give it much thought. So it wasn't until their trip to Chicago that he started to take note of the warning signs. But even then, dragons were possessive creatures by nature, and he didn't quite make the connection.

 

The first clue was just an itch, an unusually insistent irritation pressing harder against his sternum the longer Sara and Stein remained in their enemies clutches. The worst part was that he just knew he would do a better job of finding them than the others were, although he couldn't explain why his instincts were pulling him in one particular direction. Taking over the mission to get them back eased his instincts a little, but it wasn't until they got to the warehouse and found Sara and Stein that the annoying itch eased.

 

It wasn't until they were back on the ship that Mick noticed it was still there, gnawing and pressing and insisting that something was still off. But it was the noticeable scent of ozone clinging to Stein and the glaring lack of Jax's scent that he usually carried that sent Mick's hackles rising. His unexpected reactions nagged at him, rising from strange new instincts he’d never encountered before. Finally fed up and also a little curious as to what exactly the cause might be, Mick gave in to his instincts and slipped off the ship, enjoying the chance to stretch his wings as he followed that maddening sense of ill-ease.

 

His instincts led him back to the docks, to where Al Capone monologued smugly at a bound captive. Over the stench of the dock-waters and the varying musk of Capone and his men, Mick caught the scent of books, brandy, wool, and Jax mixed with an undercurrent of the Firestorm Matrix’s chemical tang. The realisation that they’d been played, that Mick had allowed a snake to worm it’s way into his den to threaten what was his, inflamed his rage. He let out a blood-curdling roar as he descended from the pitch-black sky, his monstrous appearance freezing Capone and his men in shock. A burst of fire, enough to send them scurrying but not cause any real damage, cleared the dock long enough for Mick to swoop down and scoop Stein up in his claws without having to worry about dodging gunfire in the process. Despite an intense desire to stay and burn the gangsters to a crisp, Mick soared back the way he had come, not even stopping to relocate his indignant, squawking cargo to his back. He had more important prey; his den had been invaded.

 

He landed outside the uncloaked ship just as Sara was stepping out.

 

“Mick!” she called out when she saw him. “Where the hell have you been? The ship got attacked an- is that Martin?”

 

“Yeah,” Mick answered absently as he set his load down. He growled low as he picked up the scent of strangers and enemies around the ship’s entrance, but they were cold, the intruders gone.

 

Sara groaned loudly in frustration.

 

“Why the hell didn’t you tell me you knew where he was? I just bargained with goddamn Malcolm Merlyn to get him back!”

 

“Didn’t know I knew,” Mick answered honestly, unapologetic, “just that something was off.”

 

“As gratifying as it is to know my life is so prized, what exactly did you barter with Mr Merlyn for it?” Stein cut it, albeit a little breathless still from his near death experience and harrowing flight.

 

“The amulet,” Sara admitted with a sigh. “I gave him the amulet.” She turned back to Mick, scowling. “I get you’re still adjusting to all the draconic instinct stuff you have to deal with, but you gotta at least try to give me a heads up about stuff like this in the future, okay?”

 

Mick shrugged but nodded, more interested in shifting down so he could head inside to check on Ray and the others.

 

There were other signs as well. If he thought about it, Mick would have noticed that he always knew exactly which room on the Waverider each of the team was in at any given time. When anyone on the team entered his room, his den, his instincts didn’t immediately demand their eviction. The one sign he did notice straight away was the fact that he was happy when Ray spent time with the others, especially if he was clearly having fun. That was just weird; the unfortunately possessive side of him should have been neutral about that at best, that he was happy was just unsettling.

 

Another large clue that he still somehow missed was his feelings during their mission to recover the memory wiped Rip. The changes Ray was going through were already distressing enough, but knowing Nate was going through the same thing also put a sour twist in his stomach. It almost felt like the way he did when someone touched his stuff, which didn't make much sense. In the end, he wrote it off as a side effect of Nate's friendship with Ray. It never occurred to him that he felt that way because someone was _touching his stuff_.

 

The final, biggest clue that put it all together for him, was the sudden sense of having lost something that he felt as he sat in a tent next to George Washington just before dawn. That feeling shoved him into such utter and visceral anger that he froze, breathing heavily as his lizard-brain tried to make sense of the loss. He felt like he’d been robbed but didn't know what had been taken, and for a heart-stopping moment he thought maybe Ray had been killed. But no, that didn't feel right. Luckily, before he could do anything stupid like tear out of the tent in a feral rage, the feeling left just as quickly as it had come. When he returned later to learn that Sara had once again gone on a brief dance with death, he was able to put together just what that feeling had been. Somehow, he’d forged some kind of connection with Sara, strong enough that he felt her death. That shouldn't have been possible, not when he already had a mate. There was only one other thing it might be, but he couldn't be sure without checking.

 

Thus, as Mick sat at the table and the team enjoyed their impromptu Christmas dinner, he closed his eyes and let his other senses spread. He let sound drop into the background, a low hum of conversation washing around him. His sense of smell ignored the unique scent combinations of his teammates by letting the food take focus. With his loudest senses muted, he could let that other sense, the one he could only describe as belonging, rise to the forefront.

 

Ray was next to him, happy and content, subconsciously leaning closer to Mick even as he joked with Jax. His sense of belonging burned brightest, a reciprocal bond between equals that made Mick hum in contentment. But beyond Ray’s vibrant glow was something else. Five other burning bonds of _belonging_ . One for each of those who sat around the table. No, make that six bonds, the sixth so strongly intertwined with the feeling of _den-safety-home_ that it was almost indistinguishable. Horrified realisation rolled itself into a ball in the pit of his stomach. Mick had known something like this would happen soon, but it had never occurred to him that it would be _them_.

 

“Hey, Mick? Everything okay?”

 

Ray’s tentative question and hand gently touching Mick’s shoulder pulled him out of his trance. He opened his eyes to find the entire table looking at him with varying degrees of confusion. He frowned a question at Ray.

 

“You’ve gone all scaly on us,” Ray explained. Mick glanced down to confirm that he had, in fact, begun to shift subconsciously as he searched his senses. He let his scales melt back into his skin but raised a dark glare for Ray.

 

“This is your fault,” he complained in a growl, much to Ray’s confusion. “You like _people_!”

 

Mick had figured he'd start feeling the urge to collect circuitry, or dwarfstar, or even textbooks. It had never occurred to him that the thing Ray loved most was their team. Ray was clearly taken aback and puzzled by Mick's accusation.

 

“Um, yes?” he responded, glancing around at the others as if they might be able to provide some insight. He was greeted by equal confusion. “You...just noticed now?”

 

“No, you idiot, that's what you love! That's what keeps you here.”

 

Hoards had been one of Ray’s earlier questions back when he first learned Mick was a dragon, so he only frowned at Mick for a moment before realisation kicked in.

 

“Wait, you’re not saying….is that even an option? People, I mean?”

 

“It sure as hell ain’t supposed to be!”

 

“You two wanna share with the class?” Sara interrupted pointedly.

 

“Dragon stuff,” Mick snapped, hoping to deflect the attention. Unfortunately, Ray answered too, at the same time.

 

“Mick hoarded the team,” he explained, turning back to address a groaning Mick as though he hadn’t just dropped a bombshell. “I don’t understand; how can you hoard something that’s alive?”

 

“I don’t know, it’s not supposed to work like that!”

 

“Hold on, back up,” Nate interrupted, looking back and forth between the bickering pair with concern. “What exactly do you mean when you say he ‘hoarded’ us?”

 

“It means he’s gotten attached,” Jax stated, smirking, “right?”

 

Mick growled, clearly uncomfortable. “Something like that,” he muttered.

 

“How can you ‘hoard’ us, though?” Nate asked, his face screwing up in confusion before his eyes widened to panic. “You’re not gonna sit on us, are you?”

 

“Why the hell would I wanna sit on you?” Mick asked, eyeing Nate with serious concerns about whether his brush with hypothermia might have affected his intelligence.

 

“Y’know, the whole classic, ‘dragon-lounging-on-it’s-hoard’ thing?” Nate attempted to explain, his arms flailing a little awkwardly in an attempt to capture the essence of the concept. “‘Cause I’m pretty sure I’m the only one of us who’d survive that.”

 

“I ain’t gonna sit on you, Pretty,” Mick scoffed with a roll of his eyes. “It doesn’t really mean anything for you. I’ll just…” He trailed off, searching for the right word to describe the feeling. “...know if you’ve been stolen, that’s all.”

 

“Such as when you were able to locate myself in Chicago,” Stein mused, looking thoughtful. “A rather useful ability to have.”

 

“So, by stolen, you mean kidnapped?” Jax clarified.

 

“Yeah, ‘though dying counts too, apparently,” Mick added, taking a drink from his beer as though it could wash away the bitter taste that feeling had left him with. Thankfully, no one seemed too freaked out by the revelation, so he let himself begin to relax a little.

 

“Wait, you felt me die?” Sara asked.

 

“Yeah.” Mick scowled at her. “Don’t do that again. It sucked.”

 

“Wasn’t exactly a picnic on my end, Mick.”

 

“No kidding,” Jax added under his breath.

 

“When Martin got taken, you went and got him back,” Amaya pointed out. “What would you have done if Sara wasn’t revived?”

 

Mick shrugged. “Not sure. There probably wouldn’t be much of a British army left around here though.”

 

“Aw, thanks Mick,” Sara cooed, before frowning. “Is it weird that I’m genuinely touched by that?”

 

“Not really,” Nate assuaged, “I mean, if someone’s gonna murder me, it’d be kind of comforting to know they’re gonna get barbequed for it.”

 

“Y’know,” Jax cut in, “if that’s how you’d react to one of us dying, I’d hate to see what’d happen if Ray died.”

 

“Ha, I’m pretty sure nobody would survive that,” Nate snorted. Mick just nodded, his expression one of reluctant agreement.

 

“Yeah, let’s not talk about that,” Ray interjected, understandably uncomfortable with that line of conversation. Mick found Ray’s hand under the table and gave it a reassuring squeeze.

 

“Isn’t five a pretty small number for a hoard?” Sara asked, taking pity on Ray.

 

“Six, and the number ain’t up to me.” Mick jerked a thumb at his mate. “This is Haircut’s fault, remember.”

 

“Wait, who’s the sixth?” Ray asked.

 

“Gideon.” Silence fell over the table as the others considered that for a moment.

 

“That seems appropriate,” Stein said finally, “Gideon is as much a Legend as any of us.”

 

“We’d be dead without her,” Jax added.

 

“Thank you for your appreciation,” Gideon chimed, sounding even more cheerful than usual. “I quite like feeling like a part of the team.”

 

“You’re always a part of the team, Gideon,” Ray assured her.

 

“More than that,” Sara added, “you’re a part of the Hoard.”

 

_Several months later…._

 

“What would you rather do?” Mick asked the hacker in a warehouse in 2042. “Hide from A.R.G.U.S your whole life? Or do something really stupid, like time travel?”

 

“I’m not a superhero,” Zari argued, but it was plain for even Mick to see that she was tempted.

 

“Neither am I,” he countered. After a long moment of consideration, Zari held out her hand for Amaya to shake.

 

“Good,” Mick stated with finality, glad they’d sorted that out. He was maybe a little looking forward to having another criminal on the Waverider again. He caught Amaya giving him a sly, teasing look as Zari hefted her duffel bag.

 

“Welcome to the Hoard,” Amaya said to her cheerfully. Mick rolled his eyes, ignoring Zari’s confused expression as they headed back towards the exit.

 

“Just ‘cause she’s on the team doesn’t mean she’s in the hoard. Haircut has to like her first,” he reminded her.

 

“Ray likes everybody,” Amaya pointed out. Mick growled under his breath, knowing he couldn’t argue with that. In truth, he'd already resigned himself to the new addition.

 

“Wait, what?” Zari called as she trotted to catch up. “What do you mean ‘hoard’?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Dragon Mick with his precious hoard of heroes will never not amuse me.


End file.
